Page 14 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Fourteen

HOLLY

A tear wets my cheek as I stare at the array of pots, pans, silverware, a small fridge which is now full of fresh food that Cyrus brought me.

But he didn’t stop there; he got me a proper mattress, more blankets, and a new towel.

He went overboard, but I hadn’t any power over him to say no.

And besides, he seemed to rather enjoy it.

With my new cookware, I whip myself up a nice omelet for dinner, pairing it with a very small glass of white wine, another gift from Cyrus.

Overwhelm runs through me as I contemplate the day, taking my first bite.

Today has been a whirlwind of emotions. Flustered being my top one—no thanks to his charm—then self pity, shame, excitement, fear and nerves just to name a few.

There were a few moments that had me feeling like we were about to share a moment, which is far beyond what I’m like as a person because I don’t do one night stands.

And I certainly don’t sleep where I work.

But holy crap if I had magical powers, I’d go back to that exact moment he had me pinned against the kitchen bench, where we shared the same breath, the both of us struggling to not devour each other’s tongues.

So many inappropriate intimate moments, for a boss and employee. And that’s just one day. I’m so glad I didn’t stay there. I don’t know if I could. Actually, I don’t know if I should even work for him. He’s too…

Too—

Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss:

Goodnight, sleep well. Big day tomorrow.

Yeah, that.

Too sexy.

Dammit, why do I have to have a sexy boss?

Me:

What’s tomorrow?

Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss:

After work I’m taking you out to explore Banff properly, of course.

Exploring? With my boss? That sounds like a recipe for disaster! But I give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe my first day was a bit too much for the both of us. Maybe I’m thinking too far into this, how can I be so stupid? He couldn’t possibly like me. How absurd is that?

Me:

Oh, sure. Sounds good.

Cyrus Stone aka Sexy Boss:

Great. It’s a date.

A date?

Oh no. He does like me… I have to put a stop to this.

I need to put a stop to this. Quick, think of something that might keep him at bay. “A virus?” I say to myself out loud. No that’s stupid, if anything he’d probably want to bring me soup and see that I’m not sick. “Chlamydia?” No! I snap my fingers, “Aha!” I know the perfect deterrent.

The friend zone.

Me:

C-ya tomorrow, mate. Uroo.

There, that should do it. Blunt, simple and completely friend zone quality.

Maybe I should just fake sick tomorrow anyway?

But, even as good as the idea is, I can’t avoid him forever.

He and I were both out of line today. Bosses shouldn’t say goodnight to their staff.

Bosses shouldn’t take their employees on dates, or buy them house supplies.

Bosses shouldn’t shove their bodies against their workers’ and nearly touch their lips.

Bosses shouldn’t touch employees’ boobs.

And bosses certainly shouldn’t cause their staff members’ lady parts to flood with arousal and need.

Bosses shouldn’t .

But my boss does .

Hmm, I should probably take out the sexy from his contact name.

My shower is scalding, my hair is washed, my body squeaky clean. All that’s left is to get out. I dry myself with my new towel, leaving it on the hanger and walk downstairs in the nuddy to grab my long baggy shirt for bed.

Bedtime is quite possibly my favorite time of day—I can strip off my make-up, my bra, my knickers and just breathe freely while I restore my body overnight. Now that I have more blankets, I can wear less to bed.

Downstairs is like a sauna, I’d stoked the fire with a few logs before my shower and left the lever on high.

Which reminds me, I need to remember to lock all my windows and doors tonight because I am certain that there is someone stalking me.

Because again, like the other night I found a whole pile of freshly split logs. But this time they were INSIDE!

Maybe Susan has a key and lets herself in to donate wood?

Maybe I’m hallucinating, and the wood has been there the whole time? I have been a bit all over the place lately.

“Ugh. My brain is going to fry if I keep overthinking things,” I mutter to myself, heading to the kitchen to boil a hot cup of cocoa— as this side of the world calls it— with my new kettle. The bitter, sweet nutty taste is far from an Aussie Milo, but it’s all I have, so it will have to do.

With my drink in one hand, and one of Cyrus’s books that I borrowed in the other, I crawl into bed and get comfortable under the blankets. I look forward to seeing his writing style. He is, after all, who I’m going to be editing for… if I stay that is.

The novel is entirely black in color with a soft matte coating, decorated in skulls, sharp vines, roses, chains and smoke with the title In The Shadows .

“Ooh, spooky Cyrus,” I snicker, flicking through the pages.

It’s a genre I’ve not yet read: dark romance.

Though I’ve read my fair share of horrors, mafia romances, thrillers and other smutty books, so I’m sure I’m ready for the upgrade.

I know what I’m in for, since the list of triggers is almost as long as the book itself.

By chapter two, I learn that the main female character unintentionally has the interest of a man.

A criminal. At first, I expected to feel disgusted by the thoughts and desires he has for her, like stalking her and wanting her choking on his you know what…

but as I continue reading I’m finding myself getting more aroused, and turning the pages for more as if it was a speed test.

Now, at chapter sixteen I haven’t been able to put it down.

Cyrus had mentioned to be cautious with this chapter, but caution is nowhere in sight, the only thing I’m feeling right now is horny.

Why you might ask? Well that’s because my moral compass to feel anything else but scared over an obsessive stalker is nowhere to be seen.

My clit pulsates with arousal as the masked man… which I did not know I had a thing for until now , breaks into the house of the woman he’s actively been stalking, who happens to be his twin’s girlfriend. She’s laying in her bed asleep?—

“Oh, shit. He’s not, is he?” I hiss, my two brain cells fighting one another as I slap the pages of the book with excitement and shame. He lifts her blanket without disturbing the woman and… “Mmm, yeah do it.”

No?

HELLO? What is wrong with me?

…Keep going.

He pulls her underwear down, and what surprises me the most is not only do I find myself kicking my feet, I’m also scootching down even further into my bed, and giggling!

Interesting .

The pretty redhead stirs, but doesn’t wake when he swipes his tongue through her labia…

Wait, am I into this? Yes. Oh, dear. Wetness pools between my thighs as the thought of someone ridiculously sexy like this man…

someone like Cyrus… breaking into my house with a mask on to add to the secrecy, just to pleasure me while I sleep, sends me into a spiral.

I don’t even get pleasure when I’m awake, let alone in a slumber!

Cyrus’s features replace the main male character in my head, burning a vision like a memory, and I waste no time taking the pads of my fingers to my clit. Ecstasy already on the edge from the build up.

Holy crap, I am soaked .

A moan flies out of my mouth with the first circle, then sparkles spin havoc in my head with pleasure.

Oh, wow, this is… hot. Continuing on with reading, the masked man sucks, swirls, and nips at her sensitive little bud and she stirs.

Burning heat radiates over my body from both my arousal and the excess warmth of the fireplace, so I kick off my blanket and continue building my orgasm.

When I read that he nudges the tip of his cock at her entrance, I insert two fingers into mine. The woman climaxes heavily in her sleep to this masked stranger, and a new sensation arises from deep down within me. I am incredibly into this.

I bring myself to the edge until oblivion consumes me. It’s not until my breath returns to normal I realize that I have a name for whatever the hell this is.

Somnophilia.

CYRUS

I can’t believe it. No matter how many times I rub my eyes, the image I see is still the same. And no, it’s not because of my vision or a dirty lens. It’s a far greater dilemma…

Holly is pleasuring herself while reading my book, and going by how easily she can hold it in one hand I’d say she’s about a quarter way through, meaning she’s close to—if not already at— the scene .

Somnophilia.

And I’m stood here watching like a fucking creep all over again. Blood pumps hard to my length as my eyes stay pinned to her delicate acts of self care between her legs.

It feels like a sin to watch her eyes roll into the back of her head before she reads the next page. And her making a mess on the new mattress is doing all things unholy to me.

What am I thinking?

It is a sin.

I shake my head in disapproval, running back to my car without slipping on the ice.

This goes beyond any morals. I had absolutely no intention of seeing her indecent, I just wanted to take her to see the Northern Lights.

I didn’t know they’d be out tonight, otherwise I’d have asked her sooner.

I would have called… but after my last message, I assumed she probably wouldn’t respond.

It’s a date… fucking idiot. The lights are so beautiful and radiant tonight, but they’ll shine again another time.

Now how am I going to get that image out of my head?

It’s been hard enough to not see her face everywhere I look, but now I have her pleasure face in my head too?

Help! When she comes in tomorrow I’m not going to be able to look at her the same way.

Every time I see her face, all I’m going to think about is how much she was turned on by someone being fucked in her sleep.

Back home my fingers grow smoke, steaming at the speed of my typing.

I am drowning in hot, disgusting arousal and I need to get it out on paper before my I get it out of my dick.

Every book I write has somnophilia in all ways, shapes and forms in it.

It’s what my deranged mind wants to write when I plot a story, and I can’t seem to write a book without it.

They’re dark romances after all, so it makes sense.

But what doesn’t make sense is just how much I’m growing to want it, too.

I’ve never ever been this much into this shit before—not until I met her.

Not until I saw how wet she got over it.

I suppose, if someone gets that aroused over it, maybe she wants it just as much? This is insane. I can’t believe I’m even thinking this. I need to go to bed, and cease this damn day!